


We Are Who We Are

by theeternalblue



Series: About Gallant and Brute Men [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempt at Humor, F/M, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-28 19:12:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3866536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theeternalblue/pseuds/theeternalblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aramis is ready to take down a snooty kid when something catches his attention. A girl, of course. But more importantly a girl jogging, listening to music and stepping right into the line of fire. Admittedly, it's only paint-ball, but those little balls of paint do more damage than you think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, I admit I'm avoiding the commitment of writing a multi-chapter story. And so I've decided to try and make little stories in the same universe that can be read as character profiles and anecdotes, or as a series jumping back and forth.  
> I also wanted to try my hand at taking the characters to an alternate universe.

When he was younger — much younger than the twenty he has lived — he learned there wasn't much in the world for him to excel at. Yes, he was charming and polite, and intrinsically pious, thanks to his devoted mother. But worldly temptations always caught him, and when that happened all his good qualities worked together to aid him escape punishment. On top of that, the good looks and chivalry he had inherited from his father had allowed him to be favored by women. It was a burden, but a blessing.

The youngest of three siblings, the only son, Aramis knew how to treat women and also enjoyed to be spoiled by them. But he never forgot the ruthless world of men. His father, who owned a bar, made sure of such. Devoted church-goer and husband, the man had broken almost as many fights as served pints of beers. Aramis could sit behind the bar and look in awe at the patrons laughing and cursing, drowning sorrows and celebrating. He knew exactly where the single-stick was hidden, and had to admit he felt certain joy whenever his father threatened fighting parties with it.

But as soon as Sunday arrived, his mother woke him and dragged him to church. He was the youngest. Her baby boy. And so, after his sisters all went to college and he was the only one living at home, it became their ritual. He was close to her and sat at her side while his father, with bags under his eyes and dressed in jeans and plaid, hid in the back, standing as a self-imposed punishment.

By the time the end of high school approached, his choice of becoming a writer didn't sit well with his father. He had worked from early age, and had given his all to provide and give his children higher education. It didn't help that his high school girlfriend had fallen pregnant the previous year — no matter how devastated they all were when she lost the baby. His mother kept on forgiving his flaws and praying for his soul, while his father tried to tame a soul much like his own.

"You'll find what you're looking for," his mother said while cradling his face in her dry hands, hands of a dutiful wife and mother. She smiled at him and the corners of her eyes crinkled at the feeling of the stubble peppering his face — an attempt to look mature and sophisticated. "I'll pray for it."

His father only looked at him from the door, severe lines crossing the weather-beaten appearance of his face.

Off he went, hoping for a life of adventure where everything would be new and exciting.

Aramis grinned and sped as the car entered the highway. Freedom awaited.

o~o~o

He sighs in contentment while soft and careful hands trace patterns in his chest.

"How did you get this?" the slightly nasal voice of Adele wonders aloud.

He looks at the fading scar near his collarbone and smiles fondly at the memory. "I was trying to help my mother make _suspiros de monja_ — nun's sighs, a Spanish dessert. I burned myself with the frying pan as I tried to steal one."

Adele giggles, but Aramis' smile fades a bit.

"I cried, but as soon as she gave me one filled with _dulce de leche_ , I stopped and let her tend my wounds."

He feels ungrateful for not visiting home in the last two years. He barely ever calls his mother.

The ring of the entryphone calls for their attention. Adele rushes to it, crossing her small apartment in nothing but a thin robe.

From the bed, Aramis barely lifts his head to appreciate the beauty of her curves and the cadence of her walk.

"Armand!" Adele exclaims, and it's the only word Aramis can make out of her conversation. Her eyes turn wide at him and panic washes over them both.

Aramis jumps out of bed and searches for his clothes.

One of the reasons why Adele decided to rent her own place instead of living in the dorms is because of her secret affair with a professor — to be more specific, his ethic's professor, Armand de Richelieu. Yes, Aramis is aware of the irony. And the affair is not so secret to begin with. But Aramis sees nothing bad in it as long as she's comfortable with the arrangement, since he hasn't asked for a exclusive relationship, and Adele is still reveling in all the gifts her older lover gets for her.

"Out!" she hisses and throws his jacket at him.

"I'm wounded," Aramis quips. "I thought I was more than just a dirty romp between the sheets."

Adele doesn't see humor in it, so she shoves him towards the window and points out at the emergency stairs. "There's no time for that. Just leave!"

"A quick kiss goodbye?" He puckers his lips, but instead of moist and pliant lips, they meet the palm of her hand as she pushes him out, in time to hear the front door unlocking — one of the rights Richelieu gets for paying the rent.

Aramis hurries down the stairs, a roguish grin growing on his face before he makes it on the street. He combs his wild dark hair with a hand and starts his way back to the university. A couple of young women cross his path and he grins, and bows his head in a disarmingly charming way, but they share a whisper and quicken their step. Aramis frowns until a strident laugh forces him to avert his gaze and meet a burly man with curly hair and dark skin, who is openly laughing at him. _Porthos_.

Next to him, a more serious one looks amused. Blue eyes barely showing emotion, but he's the first to acknowledge him. Athos jerks his head and then speaks. "You might want to be careful with how you sell yourself to women." He makes a gesture down but looks away, while Porthos' laugh intensifies.

Aramis is lost for a second, and then looks down at himself. The zipper of his pants is open and there's not much left to the imagination. He grins cheekily and fixes his state. He has nothing to be embarrassed about.

o~o~o

It's Friday and, as usual, they are at the pub. Athos looks like he might've been there since the previous night, but it's sadly a situation they've grown accustomed. In fact, the reason they end up there instead of a party somewhere else is because they are _rescuing_ their friend. _Again_.

Aramis gracefully slides in the booth right next to Athos, who is slumped over the table with one hand tightly wrapped around a bottle of Cabernet that sits there almost empty. It goes unsaid that his dear friend reeks of wine, self-loathing and despair.

Porthos plops down across from them and a pint of dark ale is set in front of him.

Aramis admits he's fond of brandy and cognac. He likes his alcohol to kick in early and leave a pleasant flavor in his mouth, instead of suffering a hangover the next day and feel as if he has been forced to eat dirt.

"So what has she done now?" Aramis asks without malice.

Athos grumbles unintelligibly. Then he turns his head to the side and adds, "Exist?"

Porthos grunts and downs half of his drink out of sympathy.

They all know Athos used to have a serious relationship with Milady de Winter. But things ended badly, and a heartbroken Athos fell into the bottle, while she became ruthless and unapologetic — great for her considering her business degree.

They sit in silence for a while. Aramis rising his eyebrows and smiling if a girl catches his eye and Porthos seemingly lost in his own world. It's rare, and so Aramis heaves a sigh and asks what's wrong.

"I, um, owe so money," Porthos mumbles in a deep voice that makes it amusing since he complains like a baby.

His gambling problems are also the reason why he's always struggling with money.

Athos looks up, and slams a few bills on the table. Yes, he might be a drunk, but his priorities are always in the right place. His friends are family, and Athos makes sure his family is safe.

"I'll pay you back."

Athos waves his hand dismissively, and goes into some alcohol induced slumber.

"You might pay him now by carrying him back to the dorms," Aramis jests.

"Aye, aye," Porthos replies with a small smile on his lips, promptly gulping down the rest of his beer.

By the time wine urges Athos to empty his tank, the man is considerably more sober, but as moody as always. He wobbles his way to the restrooms and Aramis keeps a watchful eye on him. Porthos is chatting up a pretty redhead that looks like she can handle her own, but also like she's not the romantic type Porthos needs. His friend might be big and scary, but it's all a facade — deep down he's probably the most sensitive of them.

Athos returns and happens to collide against a young man with a baby face — more likely than not a freshman. The boy is tall and sober, two points in his favor. But it's Athos the one standing before him, so those points don't really count. The olive-skinned lad looks ready to fight, and even if in any good day Aramis would sit back and enjoy the show, he's not feeling like nursing bloody noses for the night.

He nudges Porthos — who looks like his ship is sinking anyway — and motions towards the pair of makeshift brawlers.

"Mind helping me?"

Porthos looks at the girl, then at Athos and obviously goes for the fight. If there's a brawler in the place, that's Porthos and Porthos only.

It's not much later that they are being kicked out of the place, and fortunately there aren't any broken noses — only split knuckles. It's funny, though. After a while of fighting, Athos and d'Artagnan — that was the freshman's name — decided to turn their fury towards the cricket team. They were laughing from a corner and, well, things happen. That was the moment Aramis and Porthos also stepped in.

Now, drunk and bruised, the four of them return to campus laughing and shouting. Indeed, those Red Guards received what they deserved.

o~o~o

As a _wannabe_ writer he should preach about peace and the beauty in the world — or be Athos and see the depressing side of it. Instead, he joined the paint-ball team with his friends. He's an excellent marksman, if he's allowed to praise himself. And they are a great team. They train every weekend and a few Thursdays of the month when they invite other students to have fun with them without any type of commitment — just to release some steam.

The thing is everyone knows. They even asked for permission to do so in campus.

He's in uniform and all, about to shoot one of those snobbish kids from the MBA program while d'Artagnan dodges the shoots and finds shelter behind a tree. Porthos is shooting like a madman and Athos looks bored, but his eyes betray him showing he's enjoying this.

Aramis is ready to take down the snooty bastard when something catches his attention. A girl, of course. But more importantly a girl jogging, listening to music and stepping right into the line of fire. Admittedly, it's only paint-ball, but those little balls do more damage than you could think.

So he curses under his breath — _bloody girl in running leggings_ — and then dashes out of hiding place. There's no way he's letting her ruin paint-ball by complaining if she gets hurt. He's not sure how it's going to work out later, but Aramis is not quite thinking when he tackles her and they fall onto the grass.

She squeaks and it's almost adorable — if she weren't so damn pretty. Her big blue eyes are wide and scared.

"It's okay," he says, but doesn't move. She looks two seconds away from kicking his jewels, so he plucks an earbud off her ear and repeats it. "It's okay. I've got you — _oh, shit!_ " And then he gets hit in the back. He's not really surprised when Porthos screams that he's dead. Some friends he has.

Aramis waves a hand and forces everyone to stop shooting. He helps the girl to stand up. And yes, she's a beauty with light hair and pouty lips, those big expressive eyes and alabaster skin.

"I'm sorry for the introduction. I'm Aramis." He grins and her cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink. "I admit I'm not usually this forward-"

"Lies," Athos mutters dryly while approaching him. "I'm Athos."

"Well," Aramis glares behind him. "I have never tackled a girl before. We were just playing paint-ball and you ran right into it. I was trying to save you." He smiles and she mirrors him, shaking her head.

"Ana," she mutters. "Everyone calls me Anne, really. And I'm glad to know you weren't attacking me. I do have a can of mace in my key chain and I was planning on using it."

He snorts a laugh and shakes her outstretched hand.

"My first week here and boys are already trying to take advantage of me." She's joking, but his friends don't seem to let him make a good impression.

"Yeah, you should spray first and ask questions later," Porthos provides. "Porthos," he grins.

She giggles. "I, um, apologize for interrupting your game. It wasn't my intention."

D'Artagnan, God bless the boy, only smiles and nods. "It's forgiven. You're new, and it takes a while. I'm d'Artagnan."

"It was nice to meet you, but I must go. Thank you, for saving me," she says while looking at Aramis.

She starts to make her way back where she came from. Walking, this time instead of jogging.

"Goodbye, _Ana_."

She turns her head, coyly tucking her hair behind one ear, smiling at his accent.

She's majestic and clearly unattainable, and he's always had a thing for that kind of girls.

o~o~o

It's through d'Artagnan that Aramis learns more about the Spaniard beauty. Ana is an international student aiming to get a degree in International Relations — even if she's very fond of arts and design. Apparently her family is involved in politics, and she's expected to continue their legacy. She's from Spain, obviously, and very religious. Her soft manners apparently hide a stubborn side, since it was her decision to leave the country and study abroad. In reality, there's nothing Aramis couldn't like.

"What else?" he asks eagerly.

D'Artagnan seems taken aback, and Porthos only guffaws. "You _do_ know I was trying to know more about Constance and not her roommate, right?"

"Sure, sure, but how about a boyfriend? Is there someone else?"

"Else?" d'Artagnan mumbles.

"What about Adele?" Porthos wonders as he takes a massive bite of his sandwich — one he's not supposed to be eating at the library.

"Adele chose Richelieu. Besides, she was never my girlfriend." Aramis angrily turns the page of his book. It tasted bitter to lose against an old man, but he's trying to come to terms with it. There was never a commitment between them, and Aramis is aware she was a whim.

D'Artagnan frowns at his homework and Aramis breezes through a Medieval Romance assignment.

When he's deep in the analysis of _Tristan and Iseult_ , Aramis feels a hand on his shoulder. He's about to hiss at Porthos to get his filthy mustard-covered paws off his new cardigan when he realizes the hand is small and light. He looks up and sees those marvelous blue eyes.

"May I speak to you?" She glances at Porthos and d'Artagnan. "In private?"

Aramis stands up carefully, not to give away the anxiety he feels. He walks with her and leads her to the French poetry section with books covered in dust and not a soul in sight.

"Yes?" he prompts teasingly, watching with amusement how she toys with her fingers.

"I wanted to apologize for my reaction the other day, but you must understand I felt overwhelmed. I know you were trying to save me from harm, but... it was quite violent."

Anne is soft and each word is said carefully.

"I apologize as well for scaring you. It wasn't my intention to end up on top of you." He smirks — he is not about to admit that might be his intention now. Anyway...

She smiles and searches for something in the pocket of her jeans.

"Constance mentioned you were Catholic as well, so I hope this doesn't bother you." She shows him a beautiful black and gold crucifix. "It's a thank you gift. A token of friendship? I hope we can be friends."

He smiles while staring at her. Aramis knows she gets nervous under his intense gaze. Color rises up her neck and she bites her lip and... well, she does things to him too.

He ducks his head and it's Anne's cue to fasten the crucifix around his neck. They are close, not as much as they were when they met, but close enough for him to remember she smells sweet, like apples and caramel. Close enough to feel her warm breath on his cheek.

Her hand brushes the side of his neck and their eyes lock. It takes him half a second to close the gap between them once she places her hand on each side of his face, right under his ear and over his jaw, and looks at his mouth with curiosity and desire. Aramis pins her against the bookshelves, between Jacques Prévert and Arthur Rimbaud.

The kiss is tender but consuming, like a small flame before a fire.

Anne's hands fall onto his shoulders and she grabs his new cardigan. Funny how he cares little to nothing if she rips it apart now that she's kissing him. She makes the most beautiful sounds when she sighs contently against his lips. She kisses him with fervor, and he's determined to fulfill her every wish. When his lungs burn, and she battles for air, he lets his mouth trace the shape of her jaw, dropping small kisses on its wake. Anne tugs at his hair and smiles.

"I do hope we can be friends," he whispers in her ear and she shivers from head to toe before pushing him away. He notices she doesn't put much strength into it.

"This cannot happen again." She looks down and smooths her shirt. "I have a boyfriend," she mutters, and then stalks away from him as fast as she can.

Rooted on his spot, Aramis grins. Boyfriends have never stopped him before.


	2. Chapter II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You asked, I deliver. This chapter is told from Anne's POV.  
> * For the purposes of the story, Philip will be older than Anne

_A boyfriend._

Anne keeps her gaze out of focus. She's sprawled on her bed, lying on her belly with her head propped up on one hand while she supposedly works on her analysis of the European economic crisis. She's obviously not that into the subject considering how much has happened in just a week. And she feels foolish for blushing each time she thinks about Aramis' kiss and how her lips tingle. It's just she had never thought a kiss could feel that way. Raw passion. Unbridled.

A heavy sigh interrupts her thinking.

"What's wrong?" Constance asks from her desk. "You've been tapping that pen against the book for good fifteen minutes and it's about to give me a headache."

Anne smiles apologetically. "I'm sorry."

Constance turns in her chair and keeps looking at her. "Well? Are you going to tell me what's bothering you? I do not wish for you to lose your mind so you leave uni, and then I get stuck with some awful new roommate."

Anne snorts a laugh, but then purses her lips and looks away. "Remember how I told you about the day I accidentally ran into paint-ball practicing area?"

"Yes," Constance replies with amusement. "D'Artagnan said it was quite a show."

"I imagine it was. I was too worried trying to escape further embarrassment." Anne sits up in bed and crosses her legs. "The thing is today I went to thank Aramis for saving me from ending up covered in paint and bruises."

Constance raises an eyebrow, prying for further explanation.

Looking down at her lap, Anne merely says, "We kissed," in the smallest voice possible.

"Oh, Anne."

This is why she didn't say anything sooner. She does not like the pity laced to Constance's voice and much less that it's directed at her. She's aware it's a terrible situation for her, but she left Spain exactly because of it. Yes, she is a spoiled rich girl, but she didn't ask for it. The one thing she wants more than anything else is to be free to make her own decisions and live life the way she desires. When her brother allowed her to leave Spain only if she followed Louis to the same university, she thought it wasn't a high price to pay. Now she's not quite sure.

"I know. _I know!_ " Anne plays with the hem of her blouse and then stands up abruptly. "I have a boyfriend. One who was practically my only ticket out of my brother's claws. Louis is a dear friend, but I cannot imagine ever feeling more than fondness for him. And yet, if I leave him, my brother will stop paying for college and that means I'll need to go back. It's not so easy, Constance."

She grabs her jacket and goes for the door. "I need to go for a walk. I'll be back soon."

o~o~o

People generally think rich folks have an easy life. Anne was always aware of such since her parents never kept her in a bubble away from reality. Even with a massive fortune, they liked to live as normal as possible. They were doting parents, and Anne was always very close to her mother. Unfortunately, she passed away when Anne was barely a teenager, and her father was never the same.

It was at tender age she had to take the life of duty her mother had before her. Given her father was a politician and had a high profile, it was her who accompanied him to his activities. She disliked the world of politics and how dirty it all seemed, but she knew it existed. But Anne also knew she could make a contribution even if small. So she took part in charity organizations, and sponsored artistic and educational programs. That side of her life she enjoyed. Making a difference was rewarding.

But then tragedy struck again, and his father's soul gave away. So much sadness had taken its toll on him.

After his passing, it was her eldest brother, Philip, who took the role of family leader. From that moment on, he determined every little thing that happened in the family. This included her life. Anne had taken so long helping her siblings and her father, she had forgotten herself and by the time she tried to live her life, Philip had taken it into his own hands.

She was supposed to be an example for her sister and society. A girl who would marry an aristocrat at some point. A woman who would gladly stand in the shadows behind her husband, and as such, it wasn't deemed necessary for her to have a career — she wasn't supposed to have dreams of her own.

But little Maria Anna kept on pushing her, encouraging her to be whoever she wanted to be. Her innocence and spirit drove Anne to devise a plan. She forced Philip to agree by using Louis as an excuse. Louis was to attend university for at least four years, which was supposedly a great time for them to bond and finally become a powerful and endearing couple. Even if Philip believed Louis a dimwit — and Louis thought much the same about her brother — he came from a good family, with money and good social status. He was an excellent match.

Unfortunately, for Anne there was more in life than feeling like a princess. She wanted the fairy tale, but not necessarily the prince. She was sure there could be a happy ending without a prince charming.

o~o~o

Looking at Louis, Anne sighs. She's aware of his childish behavior, and she cannot blame him for it — at least not fully. In their world, most people are this conceited, and used to feel they own the world. Anne acknowledges she has probably behaved like a brat a few times in her life, but she tries to control her temper.

"Would you like to go to the theater?" she offers as they walk together to their next class. Since they aspire to the same degree, they have a few classes together, but Anne has taken a couple of unorthodox ones, like history of modern art. Louis has expressively told her how boring he thinks she is.

"The theater?" Louis turns up his nose. "I was thinking of having a party at my house. Mother's away. Not like she'd care if I organize a little gathering for some of my friends." He giggles in that obnoxious way he does whenever he thinks he's being clever.

She smiles only to please him. "I have a paper due Tuesday, and I haven't even started yet. That was why I was offering something... quiet."

Louis frowns. "Dear," he tsk-tsks, "you should've thought of it before. Now you'll miss one of my amazing parties!" He opens his arms and his exaggerated gestures call the attention of passers-by upon them. She feels uncomfortable as many whisper and chuckle.

"It's a shame, but perhaps it'll serve me as a lesson." Telling him she's glad she can avoid a commitment that will be attended by obnoxious socialites would be looking for a fight. Admitting she doesn't even have a paper to work on would be an awful idea.

"Indeed." Louis grins, which she must admits is contagious — he's not that horrible to be with. He's a great friend, but it takes practice to learn how to deal with him.

Louis pecks her cheek and walks away to talk to their professor, Armand de Richelieu, a man he greatly admires and is friends with his parents. Meanwhile, she seeks for a place where they can sit, but as she does, her gaze finds a devastatingly attractive smirk and a pair of warm brown eyes. She feels her cheeks warming as Aramis stares at her openly.

It seems punishment, but the only two contiguous empty seats are right in front of Aramis, and one of his friends — Athos, if she remembers correctly.

"Athos, my friend, I believe this class has turned much more interesting than it ever was," Anne hears Aramis say.

Timidly, she looks at him and tries to beg him to stay quiet. Louis might not be the perfect boyfriend, and more often than not he ignores her, but he's selfish. He's possessive and if Aramis even hints to flirt with her, Louis will throw a tantrum.

"Hello. I wasn't aware you two were in this class," Anne comments as calmly as she's able, considering her heart is somersaulting in her chest.

"Not by choice," Athos replies dryly.

"Credits," Aramis complements. "We cannot stand Richelieu," he mutters in a conspiratorial tone that makes her smile. "But the sight of such heavenly beauty is a balm for the souls of these poor tortured students."

He's a charmer. She knew so from the first time he tackled her to the ground. And as a modern and independent woman, she should despise his attitude, but it's impossible. Aramis does not use a patronizing tone with her, or keeps reminding her what she's supposed to do — his mere presence frees her spirit and leads her to think about the what-if.

"Are you going to introduce me to your new friends?"

For the first time, Anne is glad Louis interrupted. Any answer she could've come up with wouldn't have been good enough for Aramis' praise — and she's not used to that type of comments.

"Of course." Anne tells him who these two boys are, but decides to omit the how she met them. Luckily, Louis doesn't ask either.

Aramis' smile grows devious as he eyes Louis and her cheeks burn. Louis is not attractive in a classic way, and he doesn't look like a boy who would be popular by his own means. He's ungainly, with a smile so big it sometimes looks awkward and has a flamboyant personality.

"So you're the boyfriend. She talks so much about you."

Air catches in her throat. Aramis is playing with fire, but he's certain he won't get burned.

"You do?" Louis turns to her with an adoring smile on his face. "She's the sweetest girl," he announces as if it were a recent discovery and she were a child who deserves a reward. "Have you invited them to my party this Friday?"

Anne's eyes widen. "Well, no. It is your party. I'd think it wouldn't be proper for me to ask people when I'm not even coming."

"Oh, right, that paper." Louis frowns. It's incredible that he has already forgotten of her reason why she couldn't accompany him in that bacchanal.

"Busy?" Aramis prods.

"Yes. A paper for Issues in Global Economics," she lies quickly, but notices the way Athos cocks his head to the side. Dread washes over her as she remembers to have seen him before in class — Athos shares a few classes with her. He must read her well, because he only averts his gaze and nods.

"Right. I had completely forgotten about it. We're in that class together."

"You forgot?" Aramis shoots him a strange look. "Unlikely. But perhaps the wine is finally affecting you."

It's funny, but they seem to stare at each other in a silent challenge. It takes Aramis a second, but he understands fast enough.

"Regretfully, I won't be able to attend," Aramis tells Louis. "I have a prior appointment with a lovely lady, whose name is impossible for me to speak." He waggles his brow, which forces Athos to look at him like he's an idiot. Anne must admit she does believe he's a cretin — and if he was trying to make her feel jealous, he has succeeded.

"Oh!" Louis giggles, delighted to participate in this apparently secret affair. "That's understandable."

Soon Richelieu calls for their attention, and the class starts. As the professor paces while giving his lecture, Anne feels someone tapping on her shoulder. Turning, she sees Aramis handing her a note.

_Lovely Lady, would you like to meet me this Friday?_

Anne looks at him and they both smile for the briefest of seconds. It's all it takes.

o~o~o

She never really says yes, but Aramis gives her details about the time and place as if she had. It's not that he seems completely sure she will show up, but he hopes for the best and she can't say she dislikes that. All her life she has endured what fate has prepared for her — it's refreshing to have the power to decide for once.

When she arrives at the little coffee place in the corner of Queens Road and Park Lane, Anne starts to get nervous. Aramis is nowhere in sight, and she's obviously overdressed if he plans on having coffee and scones. Her long sleeve black dress looks more appropriate for a party and her makeup is overdone — she should've asked Constance for help but she felt enough embarrassment already. Perhaps freeing her hair of the bun can help? Anne tugs on the hem of her dress and decides to leave. It's stupid anyway. She shouldn't even be there.

"You look -"

"Don't say beautiful," she babbles before she can think about it.

Aramis chuckles. "Like you expected more than I had planned to offer."

She heaves a mournful sigh. She knew it. He's wearing jeans, a shirt, a sweater that looks cozy and a jacket that seems worn, like a favorite piece of clothing.

"I should've asked you, but— it doesn't matter now. I should go."

Aramis reaches for her hand and laces his fingers with hers. "I'd like to fulfill your expectations. If you allow me."

And so she lets him lead the way.

They do not end up in the little coffee shop, even if he gives her details about what a great place it is for coffee and choux pastries. They walk to a small gallery near-by. There's an urban art exhibition, one of those Louis would call tasteless, but she has always admired many expressions of emotions and opinions — she has never been popular among her peers because of her view of the world.

"Do you see how even if colorful, the palette clashes making it feel more violent?" Anne gushes excitedly. "It tricks you into seeing something simple, but the back-story is so complex." She turns to see him smiling at her, completely ignoring the piece before them. "I'm boring you. I'm sorry."

"No. No! I just never imagined you'd enjoy this so much."

"I shouldn't. I was taught to appreciate the classics and follow tradition, but I'm curious, even if I can't be adventurous." They strode side by side. "What about you? Do your parents love art or literature as much as you do?"

Aramis laughs softly. "No. They are hard-workers and live in the real world. To them I'm an idealist, which is not practical. I think I'm barely a romantic, seeing as much good in the world as I can. That's all my mother's."

There's something in his semblance when he speaks about his family. Longing and love. It's so different from the anguish that fills her whenever she thinks of going back home. It's so compelling, she'd like to meet them.

"Are you hungry?"

She smiles coyly. Since she woke up, she has been so nervous she has barely eaten, and now it's finally catching up with her. "I could eat."

Somehow they end up eating fish and chips while sitting on a bench at a park near campus, and she admits to have never tried it before. The amount of napkins she needs to finish her food is outrageous, but they both laugh, especially when half of her fish falls onto the ground.

The night might not be a perfect moment, but it's unforgettable.

"Thank you. For everything. You surpassed anything I could've hoped for tonight."

Obviously, she's no expert on the dating world, but everything she knew about Aramis pointed towards him trying to get the most he can from her after giving her such a wonderful time. And so she readies for a kiss, one that will make her feel guilty, but also giddy. Once again he surprises her when he takes her hand and presses a soft kiss to the back of her hand.

"Hopefully, this won't be the last time. I look forward to see you again, even if I have to stand in the shadow of your light." He has a way with words that she'll never match.

Aramis waits until she goes inside the dorms, and they lock eyes through the window. He's smiling and she is too. They wave at each other, but when he walks away, she feels a knot in her stomach. Anne has no idea what she's going to do now that she's falling for the wrong man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe next time I'll try to write for Porthos (I do wish to explore that, but I'm scared of writing a Mary Sue, so I'm hesitating). Even so, don't worry, because Anne/Aramis will be continued since I have a clear idea in mind for one chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> What do you say? More Aramis? Perhaps Porthos or Athos next? I'm thinking d'Artagnan is in fact the one with the most normal relationship after all, but you can give me ideas.


End file.
